


scorch marks and embers

by southfarthing



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Merlin (Merlin), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Drama, Episode: s04e07 The Secret Sharer, Gaius Dies!AU, Gen, Magic Repressed, Magic Revealed, Merlin (TV) Season/Series 04, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Perceptive Arthur, Physician Merlin (Merlin), Tension, oh i love making arthur sad and yearn-ey and Mayhaps possess an extra braincell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-21
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-28 22:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30146580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/southfarthing/pseuds/southfarthing
Summary: Everyone he trusted with his secret – Will, Freya, Balinor, Lancelot, and now Gaius – was gone. Arthur would never bring magic back to the land, and he would never let Merlin stand at his side the way Merlin had hoped he would. It was a cold awakening, years of baseless faith dashed against the fraying tapestry that destiny had made Merlin sew into his own skin, but an awakening nonetheless.In which Merlin is shaken out of his obsession with destiny and his blind faith in Arthur, and Arthur just wishes he knew how to get his closest friend back.(For Merthur Angst Week 2021 Day 7: “No. You don’t get to talk.”)
Relationships: Gwen & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), bg arthur/gwen
Comments: 30
Kudos: 86
Collections: Merthur Week 2021





	scorch marks and embers

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, hello! I watched Merlin for the first time in Oct 2020 and here we are I guess... Angsty tension is what keeps me going so when I saw this angst event u know i had to do it to em. I clearly got way too into this (which is why I haven't managed to get it all finished for today rip), but I'll have all the parts up soon-ish! 
> 
> Note: Violence might be slightly more than canon-typical in one or two places, but I didn't think it warranted a graphic violence rating. Also please read the tags for more small warnings!
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!

The year after Morgana’s coup and quick defeat had been the best Merlin had ever had in Camelot. He felt selfish admitting it, even to himself, when the kingdom around him was so tense, so volatile. Morgana had turned her back on them all, and the King withered away in his chambers, and Arthur was prematurely shoved under the pressures of leadership, but Merlin – Merlin had been happy.

Without the fear that used to chill his chest every time he entered the throne room, and with the comfort that Arthur’s changes to court life brought, Merlin walked the castle hallways with more confidence, as though he truly belonged. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that Uther’s break from power – or later, even his death – meant anything for his magic, of course. While Arthur had done much to relax social hierarchies, he’d done and said nothing against Uther’s stance on sorcery. All the same, without Uther’s constant presence haunting Merlin’s periphery, it was easier to feel comfortable with himself.

Then there were the knights. Conscious of their rank and of Merlin’s station, Uther’s knights had always treated Merlin with indifference. The knights that Arthur had chosen for his Round Table, though, were something else entirely. They were as much Merlin’s friends as they were Arthur’s, and their snatches of cheeky conversation in castle corridors and their late-night talks around campfires in the woods left Merlin feeling lighter than he ever had since he’d left Ealdor all those years ago.

(Arthur seemed more relaxed, too. He second-guessed every decision he made when he was Prince Arthur, Acting Ruler of Camelot, but talking things through with his knights and Merlin, or even just sitting with them and listening in on the jokes and merriment, brushed away some of the worry lines that lengthy council meetings had etched into his face. Sometimes he even smiled.)

Percival’s humour and surprisingly soft words, Elyan’s earnest warmth and familiarity, Leon’s firm, brotherly support – they all helped Merlin come into his own, a little more. And Gwaine – Gwaine, who had made it clear, even after he had been knighted, that he was as loyal to Merlin as he was to Arthur and Camelot – was just what Merlin needed after years of fear and nervousness. They often stayed up together on watch, stifling their laughter around the campfire while the others slept or quietly talking about the places they had been and the people they had met.

And then there was Lancelot.

Merlin had never met anyone like him – always the first to come rushing to Merlin’s side whenever he needed a friend he could be honest with. And Merlin had certainly needed him.

And he still needed him, more than ever before. Gaius was missing.

‘Arthur–’ Merlin started, cutting himself off to put his elbows on the table and hide his face in his hands, before instantly sitting up properly again. ‘You know Gaius wouldn’t do this. You _know_ –’

‘Merlin,’ Arthur warned.

‘–He wouldn’t betray you, wouldn’t run away like a thief in the night.’

‘He wasn’t honest with me yesterday,’ Arthur reminded him. ‘He was definitely hiding something.’

‘So he has private views he wants to keep secret – so? It doesn’t mean he’s selling you out to a foreign lord.’

‘Private views about _magic,_ Merlin. The only reason I can think of for hiding those is if they’re in favour of it.’

As it always did, Merlin’s stomach dropped at Arthur’s mention of magic, but the hypocrisy of the situation spurred him. ‘And that’s enough to condemn him? Arthur, _you’ve_ had favourable views too. Or at least, not always hostile–’

‘And that was a mistake,’ said Arthur quickly.

Merlin wanted to bite back with something but then thought better of it. He shifted in the chair and looked at Arthur, and when he spoke again, it was in a quiet, earnest sort of manner. ‘He was taken, Arthur, I know it. He’s been taken and he’s out there and he needs our help. We have to find him before he gets hurt or something bad–’

‘Merlin–’ Arthur began exasperatedly.

‘You really won’t believe me?’

Arthur scowled under Merlin’s unflinching gaze, but Merlin was desperate to make him understand.

‘You’ve known him your whole life. And he’s like family to me; I’ve lived with him for years. We _both_ know–’

‘I knew Morgana, too. Like family. Where did that lead us?’

Merlin fell silent. If Arthur had known her like Merlin had known her – if Merlin had been able to tell him, convince him, somehow – then they could have avoided that, too. He pursed his lips. ‘So what makes Agravaine so different that you won’t doubt _his_ loyalties?’

Arthur’s frown darkened.

‘Is it because he’s your _real_ family? Is that what makes the difference?’

‘No, Merlin,’ said Arthur coldly, ‘and Morgana was my _real_ family too, as it seems. That’s not what matters. My uncle has been helping me – helping Camelot – tirelessly, here in our time of need, ever since my father…’ He bit the insides of his mouth. ‘I can’t go doubting the only family I have left.’ The last sentence sounded weak, almost vulnerable, after everything else he’d said. Arthur seemed to think so, too; he cleared his throat and hardened his expression. ‘I won’t distrust a man who has done nothing to deserve it.’

‘At the expense of friends who have stood by you?’ Merlin returned, heat in his voice again. ‘Friends who have served you faithfully for years? Why are they so easy to be doubted and thrown aside?’

‘Merlin, that’s enough.’

The harsh finality in Arthur’s voice settled heavily over them. Merlin was taken aback.

‘Gaius was untruthful, and then he disappeared. There’s nothing I can do about that. I could have him found, arrested, hanged – but out of respect for the loyalty he once had, I chose to let him go.’ Arthur forced his mouth into a tight smile and continued with a mocking, condescending air. ‘Lord Agravaine has done none of these things. If you’re going to go around slandering important members of the court who are of _actual_ use to me, I suggest you have some evidence to back your stupid claims up. If not, it’d be wise – I know that’s a rare concept for you – to keep your idiotic ideas to yourself and not drag innocent names through the mud. Do I make myself clear?’

Where before there was a nervous tightness, Merlin now felt an ugly feeling settling in his chest.

‘Yes, sire.’

His head was bowed, and he smoothed all emotion from his face within seconds, leaving only a blank, obedient cover, though he was sure the roughness of his voice must give him away. Not that Arthur noticed that sort of thing.

Merlin stood up abruptly. ‘I’m sorry for overstepping.’

* * *

Seething, Merlin stalked the castle corridors. _Evidence?_ If Arthur had seen half of what Merlin had, he’d know better than to hang on to Agravaine’s every oily word like each was an unquestionable truth. He’d know better than to abandon a faithful old subject in his true time of need, and to push away his truest friend so cruelly.

Arthur seemed so determined to hang onto what was left of his family, but what about what was left of the people who had no blood bond yet who actually _chose_ to stand by him? There was nothing keeping _them_ there save faith and care and respect, and Arthur had proved tonight how easy it was to do away with those.

Merlin had arrived at the corridor that led to the physician’s chambers without realising. He stopped as a fear of what he would find crept in, and then he started again, more slowly now, finally pushing the door open.

He stood in the doorway for a long time, letting the fear and anxiety pass through him until it, too, joined the broken memories in front of him. The bench where Gaius usually did his reading and made his medicines was empty; heavy books lay strewn across the floor, ripped pages blotted with spilt potions and encrusted with shattered vial-glass. And here, the table Merlin and Gaius ate their meals at lay overturned, one of its legs bent at an odd angle. The once warm, lively room hung in the shadows of dust and debris, already a ghost of what it was yesterday when Gaius had filled it with life.

Walking carefully to avoid the broken glass and pottery, Merlin made his way to the window ledge and sank down onto it, pulling his legs in and slumping over to rest his chin on his knees. Almost like an afterthought, he spared a glance at the door, and it closed with a dull thud. He looked around the room again, taking in the damaged bookshelf and curling his lip at the unnecessary force of Agravaine’s search.

Memories from the past day surfaced in his mind: Gaius being hurriedly summoned to Arthur’s side, Arthur’s expression this morning shifting from guilty to hurt, betrayed. And Agravaine’s _lies_. They had to be. Gaius wouldn’t get up and leave like that. Not without telling Merlin. _No_ , Merlin berated himself. Then, with a sharp twist of guilt at all their disagreements and cold silences from the past few months, he forced himself to add, _He would never leave at all._

Merlin had never seen those spell books before – were they Agravaine’s doing? Where else would they have come from? It was almost too easy, too convenient: as soon as Agravaine had slipped up and raised suspicion over a traitor at court, he had to turn back and cover his tracks by throwing the blame on somebody else. And who better to get rid of than the one influential person who doubted his loyalty?

(Merlin didn’t count – his opinions didn’t count for anything, anyway. Not to anyone who could make a difference.

‘I’ve had my heart broken enough already today. I don’t want to lose another friend,’ Arthur had said, just before Merlin had reached the door to leave. It was almost comforting. Almost. Then it had all come to nothing when he added, ‘Gaius condemned himself.’

Merlin wondered if he, too, would be discarded that easily one day. If one flash of gold in his eyes would be all it took to lose Arthur’s trust forever, after everything he’d done.)

He stared blankly at the wall. Even the herbs had been taken down and tossed somewhere, he noted dimly. He tried to entertain the notion, if only for a moment, that maybe Gaius _had_ run away – that his questioning in the throne room had made him seem like he was hiding something, and that leaving Camelot immediately was the only way to keep himself and Merlin safe. He’d known Merlin would try to stop him, so he’d left wordlessly in the middle of the night, taking a few belongings and a horse from the royal stables.

But it just couldn’t be true. Even though their once-tight bond had begun to weaken under the strain of their disagreements, Merlin knew Gaius like a father, and none of that sounded like anything Gaius would do. He had nothing to gain from leaving the life he’d struggled for so long to build. He’d put up with Uther for years – why leave now? It didn’t make sense. And again, the spell books – they had been planted there, giving fruit to a lie that needed to satisfy. But when had they been–?

Merlin sat up straight. The dagger Agravaine had given him the night before to put in Arthur’s room. Of _course._ Merlin gritted his teeth. He’d felt so relieved at the innocence of the request: he’d thought Agravaine was going to interrogate him, too, but when he’d told Merlin to simply deliver the gift, Merlin had done so without question. Which would have made sure nobody would be around while the spell books were crammed onto the bookshelf and while Gaius was – while Gaius was taken.

‘Merlin?’

Merlin’s head snapped up. Caught up in the excitement of finally beginning to piece things together, he hadn’t heard Gwen open the door.

She stood there in the doorway, her mouth tight in worry. ‘Can I come in?’

Merlin nodded.

Closing the door behind her, Gwen walked softly toward Merlin. When he made no further move to acknowledge her, she picked up a stray stool, carried it next to the window sill, and perched on the edge of it.

‘Arthur said you didn’t believe it,’ she said at last. Her voice was slow, uncertain.

Merlin pursed his lips. ‘What’s not to believe?’ he said tartly, waving his hand to gesture at the mess around the room. ‘He’s gone.’

Gwen leaned closer to him. ‘He said you didn’t believe that he’d gone… himself. That you thought he might’ve been taken.’

‘Yeah?’ said Merlin. ‘He say anything else? About how Gaius is a traitor and I’m a liar?’

He felt bad as soon as the words left his mouth; he saw Gwen flinch out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t her fault, and she was only here because she cared, but the image of Arthur confiding in her when he wouldn’t even hear Merlin out made him bitter.

‘Merlin–’ she started.

‘Do you believe it?’ he interrupted. He turned to look at her and watched as her gaze fell. ‘Do you believe he’d just run away in the night like a criminal when he’d done nothing wrong? And leave everybo– and leave everything behind?’ He flushed at the meaningful look in her eyes.

‘No,’ she said simply. When Merlin didn’t seem about to respond, she continued. ‘No, I don’t think he’d leave like that. Gaius might have kept secrets, but I’m sure he had a reason to. I’ve known him my whole life, and I trust him. After my father died, he was… he looked out for me…’ she trailed off.

Merlin looked at her then – really looked at her. Here they were, two high servants from humble beginnings, Gwen from the lower Camelot smithy and Merlin from a distant village nobody in Camelot had ever heard of before. Both alone, lost, pattering after Gaius’s footsteps and trying to make something of themselves in the citadel. And they had – Gwen more than Merlin, it was true, but they both had grown in character and status since they’d first started here – and now another warm parental figure was taken from them, and they were left alone again like children.

‘So, you believe he must have been taken against his will, then?’ Merlin said.

Gwen sighed. ‘It seems that way.’

Merlin carried on before she could talk herself back out of it. ‘Agravaine made sure I was out of the way last night. He sent me off around the castle, and that’s when the bells rang.’

Gwen stared at him.

‘Do you believe Agravaine was involved?’ Merlin asked, more quietly this time. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but continuing to push Gwen away, now, when he’d already lost – _no,_ he told himself, Gaius was not yet lost. But Merlin was tired of pushing people away. Lancelot had taken the easy, happy warmth inside Merlin with him through that veil, and he was _tired._

She bit her lip. ‘He does seem eager to catch this supposed traitor. And this does seem… very good timing for him.’

Merlin nodded. ‘Have you told Arthur that?’ He cringed at the childish petulance in his voice and cleared his throat. ‘He might actually listen if it comes from you.’

Gwen looked at him for an uncomfortably long moment before sighing again. ‘Merlin, he does care about you. I know he has a stupid way of showing it–’

‘That’s not what we were talking about.’

‘I don’t think he’d listen to me either.’ Then, at the doubtful look on Merlin’s face, she added, ‘Not without proof. Yes, he might just be disappointed with me instead of dismissive or – or angry like he was with you, but he still wouldn’t take it seriously.’ She smiled sadly. ‘I know we both like to advise him, but neither of us is actually supposed to.’

‘Yes, that’s only for his real _advisor_ ,’ Merlin murmured. ‘And he does a great job of it, that’s for certain. Has Arthur wrapped around his finger, believing in his every word, and only his word.’

‘It should be us.’ Gwen reached out with her foot and gently nudged one of Merlin’s. ‘You and I have always helped him do the right thing.’

‘Not that he cares,’ Merlin scoffed.

‘I’m sure he will, one day,’ Gwen insisted.

As they fell into silence again, Merlin shifted his gaze back to the empty wall and let his mind wander.

It had been a while since he had talked with Gwen alone like this. They had both stood by Lancelot’s pyre, long after everyone else had left, each brimming with their own guilt: Gwen for asking Lancelot to do what he could to protect Arthur, and Merlin for being stupid enough to let his closest friend slip away so easily.

He had told Lancelot – brave, selfless, sacrificial Lancelot – his plan to walk through the veil to save Arthur and the rest of Camelot, and he had been so focused on preparing for his own death that he hadn’t even considered what Lancelot thought about it all. It was Merlin’s fault, and Merlin’s alone, for putting the awful idea in Lancelot’s head. With Arthur or any of the other knights, Merlin would have kept his deepest thoughts to himself, but Lancelot’s presence by his side in the year since his knighting had softened his heart and loosened his tongue.

Merlin smiled in spite of himself, before remembering that if Lancelot hadn’t known about Merlin’s magic, none of that would have happened. And now, Gaius had been targeted. Did this have something to do with Merlin’s magic, too? Yes, Gaius had practised sorcery before, but, for years under Uther’s reign, he had repressed his stance on it, so much that well over twenty years later, where Lancelot encouraged Merlin to use magic, Gaius still told him not to, warning him of the dangers of misuse and of being caught. But that morning, Agravaine had said that Gaius refused to outright condemn the use of magic.

If not for the way Merlin had pushed his way into Gaius’s life, Gaius would have easily continued to play the role of Camelot’s faithful, magic-fearing subject. On top of all the worry and stress that keeping Merlin and his magic in check had caused Gaius over the years, now it had cost him his reputation, his safety, maybe even his life.

Merlin closed his eyes. No matter how hard he tried, the people he loved kept being torn from him. Everyone he trusted with his secret – Will, Freya, Balinor, Lancelot, and now Gaius – gone. As though his magic was a curse, and knowing about it a death sentence.

His magic used to feel like life in his veins, coursing through him with warmth and courage. Now it was cold, dead. Wrong. For the first time since setting foot inside Camelot, Merlin felt like the criminal he was.

It was a long while before he opened his eyes again, and only then because he heard a shuffling sound. Gwen was gathering the books and papers into a pile in the corner of the room by the bookshelf. She glanced at him with a worried expression before offering a hesitant smile.

The afternoon wore by as Merlin and Gwen cleaned the physician’s chambers. He knew he could have done it in seconds with magic, but there was something satisfying in the tiring, menial labour. Maybe it was the way the soft silence between them, punctured only by gasps as glass shards nicked fingertips and as heavy chairs were moved back to their places, gave him something solid, physical, to focus on. Maybe it was the way it felt like a well-deserved punishment, using bone and muscle to right the wrongs that magic had inflicted.

The sun hung low in the sky when Gwen slipped away with a promise of making his excuses to Arthur. Merlin watched her leave with a grateful tug at the side of his mouth, which fell away as soon as the door closed behind her. Sat at Gaius’s bench, he began to think.

* * *

It was growing dark in his chambers, and Arthur sat at his table, rubbing his temples to ward off what was sure to be another terrible headache. It had been a long, unpleasant day to say in the least, and all he wanted was the familiarity of another usual evening to distract him from thinking about Gaius’s flight. To have Merlin’s babble wash away the weariness, to maybe swat at Merlin’s hand as he indiscreetly tried to steal some of the food off his plate. But Guinevere had come by just before sunset with his dinner instead of Merlin and told him it might be best for Merlin to have the evening off, alone.

As his dinner went cold and the shadows grew bolder, Arthur wondered if maybe that wouldn’t be the best thing, after all. He knew some of it was because he was selfish, and he needed to know that things would be fine. Arthur had known Gaius his whole life, and losing him like this, in such an unexpected, almost nonsensical way, was a deep blow, made worse by Merlin’s blind insistence of his innocence.

Arthur’s irritation had finally taken over his discomfort, so when he saw the tremble of Merlin’s lower lip and the flaring of his nostrils, instead of worry, he felt a grim, unclean sort of satisfaction at having put Merlin in his place. Merlin had no right to talk to him the way he had that afternoon. Yes, he must have been upset, but to repeatedly attempt to lay blame on a faithful advisor, and Arthur’s own blood at that? It was too far, and Arthur wouldn’t allow it. He’d been too soft on Merlin for too long, and it was fine when they were talking about nothing of any importance, joking while out on a simple patrol or bickering on the edge of the training field, but to argue about loyalty and treason by the King’s throne – it was too much.

Merlin had seemed unreasonably distraught, his eyes glistening in – in what emotion, Arthur couldn’t even begin to work out. At Merlin’s apology, Arthur had looked away. He’d felt a stupid urge to apologise, too, or say he understood Merlin’s loss, but he didn’t. Some things Merlin would have to learn the hard way.

Night settled completely around him. With only the light from the fireplace, Arthur moved around the room, preparing for an early night. He felt like he was following in Merlin’s footsteps as he put things away for the day and changed into his nightclothes, and it helped to soften the thoughts that bit at him – as though by doing Merlin’s job for him he was balancing something out.

When there was nothing left to do, he pulled back the bedcovers and slid into bed. It would be a long night. It wasn’t only the Gaius issue: there was also the problem of discord between some of his knight-hopefuls. Leon had informed him during afternoon training that he had caught some of the new recruits showing foul attitudes and being unnecessarily heavy with squires and servants on more than one occasion. He said they usually dispersed quickly, but without any air of guilt.

Arthur sighed. Agravaine’s insistence on questioning Gaius like a criminal had been bad enough, but his sudden disappearance early in the morning was a dark shock. After Morgana, he didn’t think he would be stupid enough to blindly trust people only to be let down, and he had _tried_ , but he never would have thought – Gaius, of all people – and now he also had to deal with petty fights among–

There was a short knock at the door. Arthur grimaced and braced himself for more bad news. Why else would anyone disturb him at this time?

The door opened to the sound of precariously balanced cutlery and crockery on a tray. A thin figure stood in the dark doorway, seemingly surprised at the darkness of the room. ‘Sire?’

Arthur sat up. ‘Merlin?’

Merlin hovered a little longer before carefully making his way toward the table and setting the tray down. ‘I’m sorry I’m late. I didn’t think you’d be asleep yet.’ His voice was hoarse, his tone tentative.

‘I wasn’t sleeping,’ said Arthur. He pushed the blanket off his legs.

‘Are you going to eat?’ Merlin asked. He seemed to have spotted the other tray, still untouched. ‘Shall I light the candles?’

Now that Merlin was here, talking to him in an almost normal way as though their argument mere hours ago hadn’t happened, Arthur realised that he was, in fact, ravenous. ‘Yes.’

Wincing at the feeling of the cold floor under his bare feet, Arthur sat down in his chair while Merlin shuffled about the room. Once it was bright enough, he stopped across from Arthur and said, ‘Is there anything else you need?’

Arthur looked at him. His eyes were downcast and tinged with red, and his scarf hung a little lopsidedly, but that much was to be expected. It still made Arthur purse his lips, though. ‘Have you eaten?’ he asked.

Merlin looked up at that. After a while, he shook his head.

Arthur gestured at the empty chair opposite his. ‘There’s enough for both of us.’

After a moment’s hesitation, Merlin placed the plates of still-hot food from the tray that he had brought in front of Arthur, and then sank into the chair and pulled Gwen’s tray towards himself. With another gesture of encouragement from Arthur, he took a bite of the cold meat. Satisfied at the chance to see things sort themselves out, Arthur tucked in.

They ate quickly and quietly. At the first feeling of fullness, Arthur leaned back in his chair. ‘Good?’ he said. ‘Or does the King’s dinner taste nicer when you sneak a mouthful?’

Merlin looked pleased, then raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean,’ he said in a horrible attempt at innocence.

‘Of course,’ Arthur shot back, grateful for the casual conversation Merlin was offering and taking it without question. ‘Well, I’m glad you get to experience it once, at least.’

‘My lord, you are too kind,’ Merlin said graciously, throwing in half a mock bow for good measure.

Arthur found himself letting out a quick burst of laughter for the first time all day. Merlin smiled tiredly. The conversation flowed from there: easy banter, sharp one-liners, the occasional scoff from Arthur. Try as he might, he didn’t manage to get Merlin to laugh, but he felt he’d still made good progress. He’d be able to sleep a little more comfortably tonight, at least.

‘These young recruits are killing me,’ Arthur complained after he relayed Leon’s report. ‘Even at that age, they’re acting worse than their fathers. They haven’t even been knighted yet and they’re already causing problems.’

‘Don’t knight them, then,’ Merlin said simply.

‘Merlin, I don’t know if you’re aware of this,’ Arthur said, dramatically rubbing his brow with his thumb and forefinger, ‘but kingdoms need protection, especially if said kingdoms have an exiled witch heir to the throne who is determined to murder the King horribly and lay waste–’

‘Don’t knight them _yet_ ,’ Merlin corrected himself.

Arthur sighed and waited. When Merlin didn’t elaborate, he added, ‘What would you have me do, then?’

Merlin leaned back, too, deliberating his next words while rolling over the last bit of bread in his hands. ‘I know you feel like you need to constantly prove yourself because you’re a new king and all,’ he said slowly, ‘and that physical strength is the most straightforward way of doing that, but… it’s not like you have an immediate need for a bigger army. You’re actually in a position where you can afford to be picky – to set the standard for what you want, for how you want things to form and to stay. And these aren’t just guards or simple soldiers, they’re _knights_. They have to be able to lead others in your name, in your way. If you want knights who are equal and fair and put the needs of Camelot and her people first, then choose the right ones and let them set the example.’ He picked off a piece of crust and let it fall onto the empty plate. ‘Don’t settle for less than you deserve – for less than what Camelot deserves.’

Arthur mulled Merlin’s words over. ‘So I let them go? Some of their fathers are lords. They’ve been against many of my decisions already. If I go and reject their sons, they’re not going to be happy. They’ll think I’m trying to humiliate them.’

‘So show your strength,’ Merlin said, like it was the easiest thing to do. ‘You want them to think you’re a strong king, don’t you? Don’t let them push you around.’

‘I’m not letting them “push me around”,’ Arthur retorted, ‘but it’s not exactly smart to push them away, either, is it, _Merlin?_ I don’t need anyone else turning traitor.’

Merlin’s eyes flashed with what Arthur thought might be anger. It was unfamiliar, unsettling. Arthur stared at him, but already, Merlin seemed back to normal.

‘If you do it fairly, respectfully, and explain your reasons, there shouldn’t be a problem. And the recruits can just… do better. Improve themselves. It’s not like you’re taking something away from them or banning them forever. You’re just telling them what you expect, and that they need to be better if they want to be accepted.’

Was it the mocking tone he used? Or was it the mention of a traitor?

‘Or you can just let them in to appease the lords and deal with disobedient knights later,’ Merlin said irritably when Arthur didn’t react to his first suggestion. ‘It’s your choice, sire.’

‘No, you’re right,’ said Arthur quickly, feeling pleased to see Merlin’s scowl fall away as quickly as it had appeared. ‘Better to deal with it now than to let it fester for later.’

A strange look passed over Merlin’s face. ‘So my advice has proven useful?’

Arthur’s bemused, sceptical expression was instinctive. ‘I’d hardly call it advice, Merlin.’

‘No?’

‘You just talked at me for five minutes. I should hope some of it was of some help.’

‘You told me about a problem and asked me what you should do. What would you call that, sire?’

Unnerved by Merlin’s insistence and still, that odd look on his face, Arthur bit back his sarcastic reply. ‘You’ve called me “sire” a lot this evening.’

Merlin looked back down at his bread. ‘You _are_ the king.’

‘Since when have you cared about that?’

‘You know I do.’

Arthur didn’t know how to respond to that. Merlin’s honesty was making him uncomfortable. He could deal with an exasperating, petulant Merlin or a cheeky, disobedient Merlin, but this Merlin who sat across from him now wasn’t one he was used to.

‘Arthur, I know I’m just a servant,’ Merlin continued, ‘and I know I’m… stupid and clumsy and we joke about that and – that’s… but you know I respect you and I try to help when I can.’

When Merlin paused, Arthur felt compelled to give a slight nod. Where was he going with this?

Merlin seemed to deliberate on his next words for a long moment, his eyes flickering from side to side in the candlelight. He finally shook his head and let out a breath. ‘It’s late. I should go,’ he said, before adding, ‘with your leave.’

Arthur could only nod again and watch as Merlin stood up and began stacking the plates and trays. He was sure that whatever Merlin had wanted to say would have shattered the tentative ease they had rebuilt, but he couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

Merlin only spoke again once he had made it to the door, and his voice was dull, almost disillusioned.

‘Goodnight, sire.’

* * *

Merlin shoved open the door to Gaius’s chambers and stopped dead when he saw a figure at the bench. Surprised at the sudden sound, the man looked up and gave him a quick once-over.

‘What are you doing here?’ Merlin asked gruffly.

Gwaine shrugged. ‘Got tired of playing soldiers.’ He kicked his feet at the stone floor. ‘Wanted to see how you were.’

Embarrassed by Gwaine’s honest care, Merlin kicked the door shut behind him and began searching for a container that hadn’t been smashed. ‘I’m fine. Just need some water to wash.’

‘Merlin–’

‘No more traitors around. It’s just me now in this ruined place. Just stupid Merlin and his stupid ideas and–’

‘You been talking to the King again, then?’

Merlin whipped up his head. ‘What makes you say that?’

Gwaine hesitated before smiling in that fond, careless way of his, though there was a definite strain to it. It wouldn’t be the first time, Gwaine playing the role of the happy fool to keep others content. It reminded Merlin of himself, in a way.

‘Nobody else would make you this angry. And you’re saying things you don’t mean.’

Merlin stepped closer to Gwaine. ‘Yeah. I guess that was another one of my stupid ideas.’

‘He didn’t listen to you?’ Gwaine asked sympathetically.

Merlin shook his head. He wished he could be alone so that he could think and come up with something, but knowing Gwaine, that was unlikely to happen. He groaned inwardly, then decided he may as well get on with entertaining Gwaine: the quicker they got talking, the quicker Gwaine might feel he’d done his duty and leave. ‘What do you know?’

‘Not much. Just caught snatches from a load of different people.’ He threw Merlin a knowing glance. ‘But it doesn’t make sense. I’m sure there’s more to it. Tell me.’

The insistent glint in Gwaine’s eyes was what got to him. Once again, Merlin was reminded of Lancelot, the way he’d get Merlin talking freely – more sincerely than with Arthur, more recklessly than with Gwen, more honestly and passionately than with Gaius. It was as if knowing about his magic, but more importantly, being supportive of it, gave him a key to Merlin’s every thought, every memory, and Merlin found himself wanting to share his secrets – he grew to depend on it. And when it ended abruptly without even a body to bury, Merlin instantly felt himself locked – locked in, locked away.

God, he was tired. He slumped into the seat next to Gwaine and slowly recounted yesterday’s events, repeated everything he discussed with Gwen that afternoon, and ended miserably on Arthur’s dismissive stance. It was hard, pushing himself back into a habit he hadn’t indulged in for months, but Gwaine was here, and he cared, and that had to count for something.

‘Slimy git,’ Gwaine said after Merlin was done.

Merlin stared at him.

‘I mean, I know he’s helped the King and all that, and I don’t know how guilty he is with whatever happened with Gaius, but I don’t have to like him.’

Merlin cracked a smile. ‘He’s a creep.’

Gwaine’s guffaw felt eerily loud in the dim silence of the room, once so full and lively and now empty, violated, but Merlin welcomed it. He leaned his head on his hand and slid his boots off, letting them fall under the bench.

‘What are you going to do?’ asked Gwaine.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Gaius. Are you going to look for him?’

‘I know he’s in trouble, but where would I even start looking? They could have taken him anywhere.’

‘You’re sure Agravaine is behind it?’

‘Yes,’ Merlin said without hesitating.

Gwaine chewed his lip, mulling something over in his head. ‘Reckon you’d be able to find any clues in his chamber?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe. But if Arthur finds out I’ve been sneaking around his room he’s going to be furious.’

‘Best not tell him, then,’ Gwaine said, grinning. ‘Tomorrow, after the knights’ training, I’ll keep Arthur and his uncle occupied – give you enough time to search.’

Merlin’s eyes widened. ‘You’d do that?’

Gwaine gave him a bemused smile that fell away as quickly as it appeared. ‘Merlin, I know…’ he started uncomfortably. ‘I know I’m no Lancelot, but–’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ blurted Merlin. ‘You’re Gwaine. You don’t need to be anyone else.’

Gwaine patted his arm gratefully but continued. ‘You were closer with Lancelot than with any of us. We all know it. I know I can’t compare, but – you don’t have to be alone. The only reason I came to Camelot in the first place was you.’ He sighed. ‘What I’m trying to say is… you can trust me, talk to me. I’m here for you.’

After the emotional whirlwind he had been tossed around in on what seemed to be the longest day of his life, this was an unexpected last straw. Merlin felt his eyes sting and his nose block up, and then Gwaine’s rough hand was ruffling at his hair, falling to his shoulders and squeezing tightly.

‘I – I’ll try. Thanks, Gwaine. I mean it.’

Despite the coldness of his dingy room and the hurt and loss in his heart, Merlin drifted into a dreamless sleep as soon as he crawled into bed. When he woke early and still exhausted the next morning, he got ready numbly, going through the motions from muscle memory. With no breakfast ready waiting for him, he broke off a piece of bread and pushed it down his dry throat as he made his way to the kitchens for Arthur’s breakfast.

The day was agonisingly slow. Unwilling to repeat yesterday’s frustration and disappointment, Merlin kept up a veneer of formal politeness around Arthur, and Arthur, though clearly still disgruntled, accepted it without question. Merlin made sure to work quickly, risking a little magic despite the guilt and unease it now came with, so that his disappearance after training wouldn’t create any further problems.

Gwaine joined them just as Merlin finished removing Arthur’s armour. Arthur agreed to a meeting, and before they set back off to the citadel to find Agravaine, he turned to Merlin to give him further instructions. Merlin braced himself for whatever else he’d have to do later, but it never came.

‘On second thoughts, I’ll eat dinner with my uncle and the knights in the hall today, Merlin. No need to serve. Take a few hours off and… just have a bath ready for me before the end of the day.’

‘Yes, sire,’ Merlin responded, nodding. Was this Arthur’s version of an apology? Or was it his way of sending Merlin away?

He felt Arthur’s cold eyes linger on him for another moment before he went off with Gwaine, leaving Merlin alone.

Whatever it was, it was better than anything Merlin had hoped for: dinner should keep them busy for an hour, at least. He shuffled back up to the armoury and cleaned and polished Arthur’s armour before making his way to Agravaine’s chambers. With his heart beating loudly in the still corridor, Merlin breathed a spell to unlock the door and stole in.

The room was unyielding. Despite Merlin’s lengthy, thorough search, he found nothing of any use – no maps or books and letters, no hidden compartments. It was a surprisingly bare chamber, more of an office than a living space, and all the scrolls of parchment were Camelot business. The only thing out of the ordinary was a pair of boots, caked with rust-coloured dirt, stowed behind the changing screen.

Despair threatened to pull him down, but Merlin fought his hardest to hold it off – he wouldn’t break here, not in the room of the man who had done this to him. All he could do now was convince himself that Gaius was alive, just in a locked room somewhere, still fed and watered and warm, not in pain. As a final resort, Merlin ran his handkerchief along the heel of one of the boots and tried to kindle a dull hope that Gwaine might make something of it.

Gwaine did make something of it. After Merlin left Arthur’s chamber for the night, once more relying on playing the role of the good servant to avoid inviting conversation, he rushed back to the physician’s chambers to find Gwaine sat at the bench again.

‘Iron ore,’ he said, a touch of victory in his voice. ‘There’s only one place in Camelot I know of that has this. A mine, at the Ridge of Chemary, south of here.’

‘You think he might be there?’ Merlin said, awed at how, with Gwaine by his side, things began to come together.

‘Only one way to find out,’ Gwaine said eagerly. ‘Quick, get the horses ready. I’ll grab some food. Meet you at the stables.’

* * *

Leaving Camelot in the dead of the night was easier with a knight by his side. In his red cloak and feigned haughty expression, Gwaine led them past the guards at the gate, and then they were out, tearing along the road.

Terrified of hoping but too cowardly to fear the worst, Merlin clamped his jaw shut and tried to focus on spurring his horse on as fast as it would carry him, but his unoccupied mind fell into memories of bitterness at Gaius’s insistence on avoiding the use of his magic. Merlin had always retaliated, arguing about destiny and protection and his magic being his only purpose for being here in Camelot in the first place, and now his magic had gotten Gaius into peril. He could only wonder if it would be enough to get him back out of it.

When the darkness of night began to give way to the dawn, the cold excitement of escape – of actually being able to _do_ something at last – also gave way. Dull fear and restlessness took its place. It had been more than two days now since Gaius’s disappearance. What was being done to him? Would he manage to hold on this long? Were they even going to the right place?

Once the sun was fully up, Merlin and Gwaine were forced to take a break and let the horses rest. Gwaine tossed a waterskin and a pouch of dried fruit at Merlin. They ate quickly. Unable to sit back like Gwaine, Merlin itched to tell him his worries, but Gwaine’s eyes were beginning to droop. With another look at the weary horses, Merlin let him sleep, himself jumping up to pace around their small camp, but he could only keep himself busy for so long. Before an hour had passed, he shook Gwaine awake, and though he helped him to his feet, the determined set of Merlin’s jaw was unapologetic.

Their going was slower now. The horses were exhausted, and Merlin’s hands obsessively clenched and unclenched around the reins, wishing he had the power to stop time for hours, days, however long it took to get Gaius safely home. What use was his magic if it couldn’t help the people he loved?

It was late morning when they reached the ridge. The rocks were a dreary sight, cold grey and brown under an overcast sky. They tied the horses and climbed up carefully, finally reaching the dark mouth of a cave.

‘They’ve gone,’ Gwaine whispered. He’d bent to the ground and stood back up with a discarded torch in his hand. ’

‘You don’t know that for sure,’ Merlin replied anxiously. They surely didn’t come all this way only to be too late. ‘It might not have been them.’

He closed his eyes and tried to feel for a presence in the dank cold of the cave. It made him uncomfortable to use it again, especially with Gwaine by his side, but he tentatively let his magic reach out, feeling an empty blow in his stomach when it found nothing. Was Gwaine right? Had the people who had taken Gaius really been here, only to have now left? Or were they never here to begin with? _Or was there never even a ‘they’?_ sneered a voice in his head, one that sounded uncannily like Arthur’s. _Did you make this all up because you couldn’t stand the idea of another person choosing to leave you?_

Merlin shook his head sharply. He wouldn’t listen to it. That voice. Agravaine had been to this abandoned mine and Merlin was going to find out why, and Gwaine had believed him enough to come with him.

And then Merlin gasped – his magic felt something, something very weak, barely there at all.

‘What is it?’ Gwaine demanded.

‘Nothing,’ Merlin said quickly, pretending to wipe at his eyes to throw Gwaine off the scent. ‘We should still look around, though. Make sure.’

Gwaine agreed, and after lighting the torch he had picked up, they plunged into the cave. It was cold, and the very air seemed choked, dead. Merlin fell several steps behind Gwaine as he focused on his magic again, letting it guide him.

‘This way,’ he said when they reached a fork. ‘I – have a feeling.’

‘Another one of your feelings, eh?’ observed Gwaine with a quick, humourless laugh. He didn’t object, though, and turned onto the right path.

There were more abandoned, unlit torches here, some in brackets on the wall, some lying to the sides of the cave. A minute later, Merlin almost tripped over a coil of rope that had been left in the middle of the uneven ground.

‘Shh!’ Gwaine said, reaching an arm out to steady Merlin. ‘Did you hear that?’

Merlin stilled, listening. There was a faint, rattling sound, like laboured breathing. He bolted forward, rushing past Gwaine and toward the sound.

‘Merlin, wait!’ Gwaine’s voice called after him. ‘It could be dangerous!’

But Merlin had already crashed into the low cavern, his feet skidding over the damp, rust-coloured rock. From the flickering light of the torch behind him as Gwaine caught up, Merlin saw a small figure, huddled in on itself in the middle of the space.

‘Gaius!’ he heard himself shout.

For Gaius it was, and he looked like death. Merlin grazed his knees in his rush to kneel by the old man and see him from up close.

Gaius was unconscious, and his pallid, sweaty skin seemed to hang off his gaunt bones like shrivelled parchment. His lips shivered as his eyes opened, struggling to focus on Merlin’s face before him. Merlin had worked alongside Gaius long enough to recognise hurts that could not be healed, lives that could not be saved.

‘Gaius,’ Merlin choked out. Dimly, he was aware of Gwaine swearing softly under his breath and crouching beside him. Merlin leaned over, laying one trembling hand over Gaius’s forehead, cringing at the unnatural, corpse-like cold. ‘Gaius, what – what have they done to you?’

Gaius’s eyes were cloudy as they finally latched onto Merlin’s. ‘My boy,’ he mumbled, the hint of a smile making his skin crack, before his eyes widened and his mouth twisted downward. ‘Merlin, I’m sorry, I’m so… sorry…’

‘What are you talking about?’ Merlin blurted. ‘What happened to you?’

The old man winced and squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Morgana,’ he rasped, chest rising heavily. ‘She… a Catha priest… I’ve never felt pain like that… in my life, Merlin… you have to understand… pain of the mind… I’m so sorry–’

‘What did she want?’ Gwaine interrupted.

Gaius opened his eyes once more, but he looked down at his own broken body when he spoke again. ‘She wanted to know… Emrys…’

Merlin felt as though icy water had been poured down his back, had seeped into his clothes, flesh, nerves.

Morgana knew who he was. What he was.

‘I’m ashamed, Merlin… I thought – I never wanted–’

‘It’s not your fault, Gaius,’ Merlin found himself saying, his voice completely detached from his reeling mind. ‘She hurt you. It wasn’t your secret to keep. It wasn’t your responsibility. It’s not your fault.’

‘Merlin–’

‘I’m the one who should be sorry,’ Merlin said lowly, moving closer to Gaius. Gwaine was still there beside him, but he couldn’t hold his tears off any longer. ‘This is all my fault. Everything I put you through since I came to Camelot, every time I didn’t listen to you, thought I knew better than you – I put you in danger. This is – you–’

 _You were protecting me,_ he wanted to say, but Gwaine’s hand squeezing his shoulder kept him grounded, reminded him he still had a cover to keep. _Even after it all, you still tried to protect me._

‘No, Merlin,’ Gaius breathed. ‘You’ve been… everything.’ He tried to raise his arm but failed, and it fell back to his chest limply.

Merlin instantly encased Gaius’s hand in both of his own, pressing against the frozen, clammy skin. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks and into the sides of his own mouth. He rubbed his thumb into the back of Gaius’s hand, gently caressed the worn knuckles. ‘Forgive me, please.’

Finally, Gaius looked up at him. ‘There’s… there’s nothing to forgive.’ His breath was failing him. ‘It’s you… who I–’

‘I forgive you,’ Merlin cried softly. ‘It’ll be ok; I’ll be ok. Don’t worry about that.’

Gaius let out a withering sigh. ‘I’m glad to have… seen you again, my boy.’

Shaking, Merlin leaned over further until his head lay lightly across Gaius’s shuddering chest, Gaius’s hand still clasped tightly between his.

‘Very… glad…’

* * *

It was well into the morning, and Merlin still hadn’t shown up. Frowning, Arthur barked orders at a passing servant and went back into his chambers to prepare for the day by himself. When a different servant came in with his breakfast a short while later, Arthur sank into his chair and picked at it. He had only eaten a bite or two when a guard knocked and informed him that the physician’s chambers were empty and the King’s manservant hadn’t been seen in the citadel today.

What was getting into the boy? First the blatant anger, the sudden appeasement and reforging of their easy relationship, then the disturbing detachment when he pretended to be a servant who knew his place for a day, and now this? Arthur had been miserable in the days after his father’s death, lost under the new expectations and the responsibility, but he had never lashed out like this, crashing from one state of being to another. He couldn’t afford to, not when so much depended on him.

What responsibility did Merlin have, other than his service to Arthur? And he wasn’t as alone as Arthur had been: he was always telling him to share his troubles and lean on others for support – surely Merlin would find it easier to do so himself than Arthur did.

Arthur sighed and rested his elbows on the table. It didn’t make any sense. Had he been too harsh on him that day? He’d been firm, yes, and had refused to entertain Merlin’s fanciful theories, but he had also let Merlin eat with him later, and they had talked like usual. Yesterday’s formality had been uncomfortable, but Arthur understood that Merlin would need time to adjust – but was this adjusting? Running away or hiding out somewhere, shirking his duties?

With another sigh, Arthur forced himself to eat, and then left for the morning’s meeting. Judging by the position of the sun, he was late, and sure enough, the room was mid-conversation when he entered. The lords and knights stood up to greet him as he took his seat.

‘Where is Sir Gwaine?’ was his first question on noticing the empty chair.

‘We don’t know, sire,’ answered Leon uncomfortably. ‘The guards at the southern gate said they let him leave Camelot last night. He was with a civilian; they were both riding horses from the royal stables. They haven’t been seen since.’

So Gwaine had gone with Merlin. Arthur wasn’t sure if he was relieved or angry. They’d left the _city_. In the middle of the _night._ What could possibly be so urgent?

‘He didn’t say anything before he left? No explanation?’

‘No, sire. The guards said they didn’t see any baggage, so they didn’t think it would be a long trip. They were riding fast.’ Leon paused for a moment. ‘If he doesn’t return before the evening, should we choose someone else to lead the northern patrol?’

‘I’ll leave that to you to arrange, Sir Leon.’

Leon nodded and sat back down.

Pushing his confusion to the side for now, Arthur turned to his uncle for a summary of what he’d missed. The council meeting seemed to drag, and Arthur marked the time with every glance at the door, but nobody else joined them.

‘I’m planning on dismissing some of the knight recruits for poor conduct,’ he said toward the end of the session, more to his uncle than anyone else.

As expected, Agravaine bristled in his seat. ‘Is that wise, sire? Many of the lords – Lord Caradoc, for instance – have sent their sons from all corners of Camelot, together with a – ah, generous contribution.’

‘As I remember, that donation was to support struggling farmers in the northern villages,’ Arthur countered, ‘not to buy their sons’ places around the Table.’

Agravaine’s response was quick. ‘No, of course, my lord. But there may be certain expectations, regardless.’

Arthur peered at the faces around the Table: a handful of knights and lords, some from his father’s reign, some more recently appointed. Many had now edged forward in their seats, listening intently.

‘Have we made any promises for these expectations to base themselves on?’ Arthur said.

‘Well – no.’

‘So, we cannot be faulted for such expectations, surely?’

Agravaine looked put out; his dull eyes flitted around the Table, too, and back to Arthur’s face. ‘May I ask why such a course–’

‘Sir Leon,’ Arthur cut in, surprised at his own vehemence. Hadn’t he been the one defending his uncle against Merlin’s accusations? ‘If you could fill the Table in.’

After Leon repeated his account, a disgruntled murmuring swept across the room, though some of the lords sat back in their chairs indifferently.

‘Behaviour like that shows me these young men aren’t suited to join us here, or perhaps they simply won’t be ready any time soon. Either way, if their fathers retract their – contributions,’ Arthur said, drawing some confidence at least from the visible support of his own knights, ‘that would be rather upsetting. I should hope charity wasn’t so dependent on returned favours.’

He was backed up by a silent chorus of nods from most of the council members. Agravaine, sensing the battle was lost, pulled back and plastered a respectful smile across his face. ‘You’re right again, my lord. As you see fit.’

It was only when his uncle sat back down that Arthur wondered when his uncle had admitted to Arthur being right the first time.

When at last the session was closed, he stood up first and addressed the room at large. ‘Send Sir Gwaine to me as soon as he sets foot in the city.’ He was sure Merlin would follow.

Arthur’s strange mood continued throughout the day. During the afternoon knights’ training, he finally broke the news to the recruits, but not before telling them to come back next year to try again, if they were ready to act in a more knightly manner by then. He knew from the shrewd looks in their eyes that he’d be receiving letters of complaint from Camelot’s distant lords over the next week, but he also knew it was the right thing to do. Despite his many faults, Merlin did have a mind for diplomacy.

He had another servant assigned to him for the day, one who efficiently cleaned and served, and though he seemed surprised at being asked to tend to Arthur’s horse himself, he left for the stables anyway.

Arthur went to bed that night torn between irritation and worry. It must have been important for both Merlin and Gwaine to ride out like that in the night – something to do with Gaius, perhaps? – but the way it had been done left a sour taste in Arthur’s mouth. Forget asking permission – no notice, no explanation, and the fact that they’d gone alone instead of with a group of knights told him it was something they knew they’d get in trouble for… Arthur closed his eyes and, in a voice that sounded like Agravaine’s, reminded himself a king shouldn’t care so much about individual subjects – a knight and a servant. They’d return eventually, and they’d face Arthur’s indifferent but fair judgement.

When he woke up, the same servant from the day before was standing at the foot of his bed.

‘Your breakfast is ready, sire,’ he said timidly, ‘and I’ve brought some warm water to wash. Unless you’d like a bath?’ He seemed horrified that he hadn’t thought of the possibility beforehand that the King might want to bathe.

Arthur blearily took in his young features and shy, respectful stance. He looked as old as Merlin had been when they first met. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Daegal, sire.’ Again, the boy seemed faintly surprised.

‘Daegal, tell the seneschal, Guinevere, that I wish to speak with her in my chambers when she has a chance this morning.’

Abruptly, the boy bowed – Arthur hadn’t seen _that_ in a while – and left without a word.

Arthur was breakfasted, washed and dressed by the time Guinevere arrived. He smiled; at least this part of his life still made sense. ‘Good morning, my lady.’

Guinevere rolled her eyes but grinned widely. He saw more of her toothy smile now that she was more comfortable being around him within the walls of Camelot – now that his father wasn’t here to banish her for it. ‘Good morning, Arthur.’ She sat in the chair opposite him. ‘What did you do to Daegal? He’s terrified you mean to sack him.’

‘What? All I did was send for you.’

Guinevere shot him an amused look. ‘Yes, and as I happen to be his employer now…’

Ah. ‘You can tell him he still has a job,’ he said, before quickly adding, ‘though not necessarily with me. That one is already taken.’

Guinevere’s smile faltered. ‘Has there still been no word? Of Merlin and Gwaine?’

Arthur shook his head. ‘Do you have any idea where they might have gone?’

She sighed, looking troubled. ‘I visited him the afternoon after Gaius was gone. He was miserable. I haven’t seen him that bad since…’

Arthur grunted in acknowledgement. _Lancelot._ He and Merlin had been inseparable, constantly defending and protecting one another and sharing knowing looks and quiet laughs that nobody else seemed to be able to join in on – until they _were_ separated, and Merlin mourned longer than anyone else. Arthur remembered his fruitless attempts to cheer Merlin up in the first few days; his jokes had bounced off Merlin, and while his increased rough affection had forced Merlin into smiling, there was little humour in his eyes. Guinevere had scolded Arthur, telling him to let Merlin be, and Arthur, surprised at Guinevere’s passion, had backed off and let Merlin mope for another few weeks before trying again, this time to better results. Arthur wondered how long Merlin would need this time.

Pursing his lips at his own selfishness, Arthur tried to steer the conversation in another direction. ‘It’s not the first time he’s gone off and disappeared, but…’ he trailed off.

‘But normally, you’d go to Gaius’s to yell at him and Gaius wouldn’t seem worried about wherever he’d gone,’ Guinevere filled in for him. ‘You’re right. He’s in a different state of mind right now. I’m scared for him.’

Arthur’s insides went cold as he looked at the fear in Guinevere’s eyes. He reached out and lay a hand on hers. ‘He’ll be ok,’ he consoled, unsure if it was more for her or for himself. ‘He has Gwaine with him. Granted, Gwaine is an idiot, too–’

Guinevere let out a quiet laugh.

‘–but he’s a good fighter, and Merlin usually listens to him, for some reason.’

‘But what happens when he gets back?’ she said softly. ‘He’s the same age I was when I lost my father. I was so alone… I hate to think of Merlin like that.’

‘He won’t be,’ Arthur said, squeezing her hand gently. ‘He has you. And the knights – Gwaine, Elyan, Percival–’

‘And you,’ Guinevere added.

Arthur snorted. ‘I won’t ruin his life too much, I promise.’

Guinevere didn’t respond for a moment. ‘Arthur,’ she began slowly, pulling her hand back into her lap, ‘please don’t take this the wrong way…’

‘What?’

She pulled her mouth to the side, considering. ‘There’s a time for jokes, and I know the two of you usually play around like that, but… he’s really hurt. I think… just – be gentle with him. He’s having a hard time, and he looks up to you so much. He really cares for you, Arthur. You could help him so much just by being kind.’

Arthur frowned. What was she talking about? ‘Are you saying I’m unkind?’

‘No! Just – a little rough, sometimes. In your words.’

‘That’s how we are,’ said Arthur defensively. ‘He doesn’t mind, and neither do I.’

‘Normally, yes,’ said Guinevere, looking thoroughly regretful at having started this, ‘but not right now. He was really hurt by you the other day–’

‘By _me?_ What have _I_ done?’

Guinevere’s face seemed to screw up in anxiety. ‘You know the – Agravaine issue–’

Arthur groaned in frustration.

‘I know you don’t believe it, and that’s ok! I’m just saying–’

‘Do _you?_ ’

Guinevere looked away. ‘I’m just saying–’

‘Really?’ cried Arthur incredulously. He’d thought she would have more sense than this. ‘You as well?’

‘Arthur, please let me finish,’ said Guinevere adamantly. ‘When your father died, you could blame it on the sorcerer. Even though Gaius said the man was only trying to help – you can believe that or dismiss it, however you see fit – but at least you had someone else to blame. Merlin had his doubts about your uncle before this, and he’s usually the kind of person who sees the best in everyone. And he’s chosen to blame Agravaine for Gaius’s disappearance. Yes, he might not be thinking as rationally as he usually would, and yes, you don’t have to believe him, but to completely shut him down like that… He came to you because he wanted the support of a friend.’

Arthur’s mind felt like it was spinning, tossed around by Guinevere’s deft fingers. He’d forgotten how she had the power to render him speechless like that with her brutal honesty. He flushed in shame as memories of his youthful arrogance resurfaced.

‘He’s my servant,’ he said blankly.

That was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it even as his mouth formed the words, before Guinevere’s earnest face shuttered into one of hurt.

‘So am I,’ she said coolly.

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ he said anxiously. ‘You’re–’

‘A servant. I’m not ashamed of it. You put me in charge of them all, but I still serve you.’

Arthur was lost for words. Guinevere and Merlin always seemed so open about these things – service and status and equality – while he listened with unease, even though he was usually the one who brought it up in the first place. Anything he said seemed to have the opposite effect of what he intended, and he’d be left looking harsh and insensitive no matter how hard he tried to be a king who listened to his people.

‘And I know those were your uncle’s words. I’ve heard you call him your friend many times. He’s done so much more for you than he ever needed to.’

‘I know that,’ said Arthur heavily. ‘I’m not an ingrate, Guinevere. I do care about him.’

‘Yes, you care about him. But you won’t respect him.’

Arthur stared at her, aghast, distinctly aware of his pulse throbbing up the side of his neck, his jaw, his ear. Guinevere had never condemned him with such open disdain before, and what she was _saying_ …

She bit her lip as her courage began to dwindle, and she gave him an apologetic half-smile. ‘All I meant was just – I think you should lay off him for a while.’

Guinevere’s words – while well intentioned, he was sure – filled Arthur with a strange kind of bitterness. The friendship Merlin had with her was softer around the edges, more about familial warmth and support than the quick snipes and sincere gestures Merlin shared with him. She couldn’t understand the way Merlin and Arthur worked together, and the suggestion that by acting normally he had mistreated Merlin or had been cruel…

‘Alright,’ he said with a tight smile.

Guinevere seem unconvinced, but she dropped it at that.

She stayed with him for an hour afterward, trying her best to help with the speeches and reports that had piled up. She wasn’t as confident with the reports as Merlin, but she definitely had more of a flair for the speeches. Arthur felt considerably lighter afterwards as he made his way to the throne room for the week’s audiences, impressed with her untapped talent and glad to have been able to spend the morning with her, talking about less unpleasant things.

* * *

But it seemed that Guinevere’s impact was only fleeting. His mood instantly soured again with each petty complaint and unreasonable request from spoilt landowners and wide-eyed villagers. Despite trying his best to maintain the same civility and fairness, he had a full headache by the end of it, and he couldn’t leave the room quickly enough once it was done.

He looked longingly at the early afternoon sunlight streaming through the high windows. Training had recently been more of a political challenge than the enjoyable physical release it had once been, back when he was a young prince and all he had to worry about was winning his father’s approval and coming up with creative ways to mess with Merlin in his free time. A quick spar on the training field with whichever knight was running the session might help.

Arthur jogged down the steps and out into the courtyard. He made to move onto the green when he heard the clattering of horses against the cobblestones and raised voices; he turned to his right, and there outside the stables, he saw Gwaine unmounting from his horse, arguing with a guard.

Instantly changing course, Arthur walked purposefully toward him. It was about time, he thought irritably. He would be having words with Gwaine, certainly, but he had other matters to deal with first. As he got closer, he saw Merlin facing away, still on his horse and making no indication of getting off it.

‘So,’ Arthur said loudly, feeling an unsavoury twinge of satisfaction when Gwaine looked at him without a stupid smile, for once. ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ And before Gwaine could answer, he turned to Merlin.

Guinevere’s words from that morning rang in his ears again as he took in the familiar slouch of Merlin’s back, and, once again, he felt frustration at the way his and Merlin’s relationship was misunderstood.

Arthur knew Merlin like he was an extension of himself. At some point over the years, they had merged into one, and Merlin had lodged himself into Arthur’s head so firmly that he knew Arthur’s every thought, every action, often before Arthur even knew himself. The magnitude of it had both frightened and aggravated Arthur before, until he learned to depend on it – on Merlin being by his side, in form and in mind. It was something that seemingly only made sense to the two of them, but now he felt a sudden urge to prove it.

‘Merlin!’ he called, smirking when Merlin twitched and fumbled around the reins. ‘Enjoyed your little trip?’

‘Arthur,’ Gwaine said in an urgent whisper, ‘ _sire,_ don’t – not now.’

Arthur ignored him and watched as Merlin shakily began to dismount; Gwaine rushed to his side to help as though Merlin was a child. This irritated Arthur even further. As physically inept as he was, Merlin was perfectly capable of getting off a horse.

It was then that he noticed something long that had been wrapped in a red Camelot cloak and draped over Merlin’s horse, where Merlin’s knees must have kept it in place. Arthur remembered Leon saying they’d gone without any packs.

He stepped even closer, so that Merlin was only an arm’s reach away. ‘What’ve you got there?’ Arthur asked in his usual patronising tone as he pointed at whatever was under the cloak. ‘A memento from your secret travels?’

‘Arthur,’ Gwaine growled in his ear so that the guards wouldn’t hear, but Arthur ignored him again.

Merlin turned to him at last, and, all of a sudden, Arthur was struck by the exhausted, despondent look in his eyes. Merlin didn’t smile or even nod in recognition; he simply stood with his long arms hanging by his sides as he slowly raised his face to look at Arthur.

‘It’s Gaius.’

Arthur faltered. ‘What?’

Merlin held his gaze. His voice was small, hoarse. ‘It’s Gaius.’

Gwaine had his arm around Merlin’s back again. ‘Come on, let’s get you inside,’ he was saying.

Arthur looked back at the bag. He took another step toward it and narrowed his eyes at its uncannily human shape, hunched over the back of the horse between its neck and the saddle, and draping down the sides.

Distantly, he was aware of Guinevere’s voice calling Merlin’s name, and then a few moments later, there was a startled sob. Arthur felt simultaneously rooted to the spot and as though the ground beneath his feet had been violently jerked back into nothingness, leaving him trapped, spinning toward nausea.

Gaius – traitor – _dead?_ Nothing made sense as he stood there, drenched in the cold reality of his own lost thoughts. The man who had taught him to read and to write, who had hunched over a workbench in the same room for as long as Arthur could remember… gone in the night and now back in the unforgiving day, lumped over a horse like a sack of wheat…

He felt completely empty as he stared at the body. The corpse of Merlin’s guardian. Merlin had been carrying it on his horse for hours, all the way back to Camelot – touching it, holding it, feeling the stiffness, the cold–

‘Merlin,’ Arthur rasped, turning back around.

Guinevere had one hand pressed to her teary face and another fisted in the front of Merlin’s shirt, but Merlin’s face was blank.

Hot shame coursed through Arthur’s body, and a debilitating need to reach out and hold Merlin steady, to stop him breaking away into the wind. He stumbled forward with his hand outstretched. ‘Merlin, I…’ he said again, and his fingers had only brushed the frayed edge of Merlin’s scarf when Gwaine was there again, a firm hand on Arthur’s arm.

‘Let him go, sire.’

‘What?’ Arthur said numbly, pushing Gwaine’s hand off of him.

‘He’s been through hell. Just let him sleep. It was my fault, my idea to leave. You can take it out on me.’

Arthur stared at him in dull confusion. Did Gwaine really think he would carry on once he’d understood what had happened? To be cold out of ignorance was one thing, but did Gwaine really think he would choose to torment Merlin, to knowingly press into his wounds?

‘Gwen, can you–?’ Arthur heard Gwaine say, and then Guinevere’s abrupt, strangled sound of agreement.

Gwaine faced him again, standing tall as though to hide Merlin behind his back, protect him from Arthur. When Arthur only clenched his jaw and watched over Gwaine’s shoulder as Guinevere slowly led a vacant Merlin up to the citadel, Gwaine seemed to relax.

‘Did you want to… talk about it inside, sire?’ he asked. Arthur noticed how his tone lost its defensiveness now that Merlin was safely away.

Arthur nodded once and then strode back across the courtyard, hearing Gwaine give quick orders to the stable hands before running to follow Arthur.

The funeral the next day was a hurried affair.

Arthur felt like a hypocrite as he stood in the courtyard and spoke of Gaius’s loyalty and his service to Camelot and to Uther, when, for the past few days, he had been so miserably convinced otherwise. The knowledge of his fate eased the stab of betrayal, but now Arthur simmered in guilt, which somehow felt even worse. A betrayal of self – of his own morals and convictions – and the twisting truth that others had been betrayed by _him._

Gaius had been tortured. That’s what Gwaine had said. Abducted by Morgana and tortured until he became a strangled husk of himself, weeping and ashamed at having crumbled in her merciless grip.

(‘At least he was alive when we found him,’ Gwaine had said grimly. ‘Barely making sense, but at least they got to say goodbye to each other. I’d hate to imagine what it would’ve been like if we got there an hour later.’ A pause. ‘Merlin has a good heart. Good instincts, too.

‘The whole time back… he was broken, Arthur. I never want to see him like that again.’)

And Merlin had desperately wanted to bring Gaius back to Camelot, to clear his name and let him sink back into the earth with the memory he deserved, even if that meant enveloping his body in Gwaine’s cloak and clutching onto it the long ride back.

Arthur stepped back to stand beside Agravaine. His uncle looked appropriately sombre, but there wasn’t a trace of Arthur’s guilt in his countenance, despite his passionate condemnation of Gaius’s supposed treachery being proved to be so terribly false. Arthur ground his teeth. He wouldn’t jump to another damning sentence, but this was something to think over.

The body was taken out of the city and buried at the edge of the woods. Arthur watched Merlin; he was gripping Guinevere’s hand tightly, and his mouth was pressed into a thin line as tears streamed silently down his face.

Once again, Arthur felt his body prickle with shame. He needed to go over to him – lay a heavy hand on his shoulder and offer words of comfort, like he would with anybody else. And Merlin was so much more than anybody else – so why was it so difficult?

This Merlin was not one Arthur felt he knew at all: Merlin was happy. He was impertinent and righteous and dedicated. And a horrid, horrid voice in Arthur’s head added that Merlin’s life revolved around Arthur’s, so the shocking proof of Merlin experiencing loss in such an abject, human way made Arthur feel like he’d been unseated, thrown off familiar terrain.

Heart thrashing in his chest against the rush of adrenaline, Arthur forced himself to the side to stand nearer to Merlin. Just a bit further, and he could brush against his arm nonchalantly, like nothing had changed. Reacting like this was ridiculous, and yet he was afraid of what would happen if Merlin were to pull away, in hurt or disgust or furious blame. What would Arthur do then?

Before he could make a decision on whether or how to act, Merlin let go of Guinevere’s hand to scrub at his face.

‘Do you want to go to the clearing?’ Guinevere asked Merlin quietly. ‘We could sit on the grass and watch the sunset, in the peace and quiet.’

Merlin sniffled. Arthur struggled to discern his words. ‘No, it’s not – safe.’

‘Elyan could come with us, and Gwaine.’

Letting out a ragged breath, Merlin shook his head. ‘Thanks, Gwen. Let’s just go back.’

‘Of course,’ Guinevere said, slipping a hand under Merlin’s arm and pressing herself to his side.

Arthur watched them silently, and for all his defence against Guinevere of how he and Merlin interacted, he had to fight to bite back envy at the easy care between them: how simple it was for Guinevere to push herself into Merlin’s confidence and for Merlin to accept it without question.

Guinevere turned her head back to glance at Arthur, and, embarrassed at having been caught staring, he tried to twist his features into what he hoped was a smile. Her eyes were still shining with tears, and her dark lashes, clumped together, brushed against her cheeks as she returned with a sad smile of her own.

Arthur’s stomach sank lower at the sight of Guinevere so upset. In the stress of the past days, he’d forgotten that Merlin wasn’t the only person Gaius had been something of a father to, and his face burned. Thoughts of comforting her, too, wilted as he wondered how a king could expect to lead fairly when he had so little empathy.

As the procession began to make its way back up to the city, Arthur caught Gwaine’s elbow and made him fall into step with him.

‘Something still doesn’t add up,’ Arthur said in a low voice. He felt Gwaine’s body relax with a sigh.

‘What’s that?’

Arthur slowed their steps and watched as Merlin and Guinevere disappeared among the throng. ‘How did you know where to find Gaius? And why did you leave Camelot at that time? Why not before?’

‘I can’t say,’ Gwaine replied lightly.

Arthur scowled. ‘You don’t know, or you won’t say?’

Gwaine seemed to consider that for a moment. ‘A bit of both, I suppose, sire.’

Arthur tightened his grip. ‘I’m not in the mood for this. Tell me what you do know.’

Something in Arthur’s tone must have affected Gwaine, because his tone, too, became darker. ‘I don’t think you’ll like it.’

‘I’ll decide that for myself,’ retorted Arthur, voice brimming with irritation.

‘You won’t believe it, or you won’t want to.’ Gwaine fell unusually quiet again. ‘I think you know what I’m talking about.’

Arthur pursed his lips. Gwaine seemed to take Arthur’s silence as understanding.

* * *

Arthur stared at the fire for a long time after Daegal left his chambers that evening.

He had always been so sure of anything to do with Merlin, but now, as he watched the flames lick at the wood and was reminded of Merlin’s reckless bravery in the face of dragon fire, and then saw the image of Merlin’s dead eyes and his utter misery, Arthur felt how keenly he had misjudged. Merlin’s complete avoidance of him since his return left Arthur itching to reach out to him yet uncharacteristically clenching his fists and standing back.

Gaius had been like a father to Merlin, he knew – perhaps even more so because Merlin had never known his own – and Arthur knew what that loss was like. Merlin had waited outside the throne room that entire night so that Arthur wouldn’t feel that he was alone: that was what he had said. And now Arthur was sat here, stewing in confliction between guilt at what Merlin was going through and frustration with himself for feeling responsible in the first place. Above it all, though, was the disappointment in his own inability to be there for a friend who always seemed to be there for him.

He had both no right and every right to seek Merlin. As his empty room darkened and he thought about how familiar the sight was, he decided he wouldn’t make the same mistakes as the day he condemned Gaius to Morgana’s clutches. Arthur pushed himself to his feet with the resolve of a knight to see things through, and he didn’t let himself think anymore as he made his way through the castle.

There was no response to his knock, so he slowly creaked the door open. The physician’s chamber was dark, lit only by a lone candle on the table and soft touches of moonlight from the window. There Merlin was sat, with his legs drawn against his chest and tucked under his arms, and his head resting against the mullioned glass. He made no movement at the sound, but he didn’t seem to be asleep, either.

‘Merlin?’ Arthur began, wincing at how tentative his voice had become.

Merlin finally turned his head. In the eerie light, he looked unnaturally pale, and the skin around his eyes seemed bruised, pressed with purple and grey.

Arthur moved to sit beside him, his back to the glass. He gritted his teeth, determined to do what he came for. ‘I’m sorry.’

Merlin didn’t speak.

‘It’s not – easy to lose a father,’ Arthur continued, ‘and I’m sorry I haven’t been of help, even though you made sure to stand by me when I…’

‘Was just doing my duty, sire,’ Merlin said, his voice quiet and rough from disuse.

Arthur shook his head. ‘No, it was more than that. It was more than duty.’ He paused: this was new territory for him, and each step felt like it was a gamble in the dark, but he had to carry on. ‘And I appreciated it. And I wish I could’ve… I want to do the same for you.’

Even in the dark, Arthur could feel the burn of Merlin’s full attention. ‘You’re going to sit here all night?’

‘If that’s what you want me to do,’ Arthur said, the breath catching in his throat.

Merlin was silent for a long moment. ‘I don’t do things because I expect them to be returned.’

‘I know that,’ Arthur insisted. ‘I just want to do what’s right.’ And then, because that sounded self-centred even to his own ears, he added, ‘And I want to make sure that you’ll be alright.’

‘That’s… good of you.’

Arthur sighed and eased himself off onto his feet to fetch the candle from the table. He set it down in the middle of the ledge near Merlin’s legs and sat down again, this time keeping the glass to his side so that he could see Merlin’s face more clearly, with the candlelight to help.

‘Guinevere was right, it seems. I assumed that because you know me so well – that I knew you, too. I was wrong.’ The words were a miserable revelation, but their truth couldn’t be denied.

Merlin’s dull eyes sharpened in focus. ‘What have I done to make you think that?’

Arthur swallowed. ‘It’s not anything you’ve done. It’s just – what I missed, I suppose. What I failed to notice. It’s my own fault.’

At that, Merlin’s shoulders seemed to relax slightly – as though he had believed himself in trouble. Well, he had been, Arthur supposed, until the necessity of his departure became clear.

Arthur’s stomach churned at the memory of how _wrong_ he had been – how blunt, how callous.

‘He really cared for you,’ he said, when Merlin didn’t respond to his shameful confession. ‘He knew me my whole life and he put up with me, but…’ Again, the hypocrisy that Arthur had spent Gaius’s dying breaths tarnishing his memory and everything he had done. He truly hoped Merlin wouldn’t pick up on it again because this time, Arthur had no defence against its truth. ‘The second you crashed into Camelot, he took you under his wing and loved you like a son.’

There was a sharp intake of breath from Merlin. ‘I wish he hadn’t.’

Arthur stared at him in shock. ‘Why would you say that?’

‘I was… I didn’t deserve–’

‘Of course you did,’ Arthur said firmly.

‘You don’t understand.’

Arthur took in Merlin’s fretful expression and the tightness of the skin around his knuckles, blanched white in the moonlight. Once again, Arthur realised with a twinge how little he knew his closest friend. ‘Then help me to.’

This didn’t seem to be what Merlin was expecting: he leaned back and shook his head with a grimace.

‘Merlin,’ Arthur insisted, ‘tell me.’

‘What does it matter?’ Merlin was stubbornly looking down at his legs.

‘Of course it does. Something’s bothering you and–’

‘What does it matter that you don’t know? You never–’ he stopped, cutting himself off.

Arthur frowned. ‘I never what?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It does.’

‘Not to you.’

Arthur leaned forward, agitated. ‘And I’m telling you it does.’

Merlin’s eyes found his again, and Arthur felt wrongfooted by the raw emotion swirling in them.

‘It’s my fault he’s gone,’ Merlin whispered, face set. ‘If it weren’t for me, this wouldn’t have happened.’

‘How is it your fault? Don’t be stupid, Merlin,’ Arthur blurted in the need to cut off Merlin’s self-pity before it took hold, and then he cringed at the inadvertent insult. He didn’t say it aloud that maybe it was his own fault – if he’d listened to Merlin, if they’d acted earlier, Gaius might still be alive – but he was sure of _this,_ at least: they were both thinking it.

Merlin’s mouth opened almost instinctively, before closing again. His lips twisted into a smile so hopeless that Arthur was at a loss for words.

Content Merlin, always so full of strength and passion and will. Arthur felt his hands tremble. He’d caused this.

‘I’ll be fine. You don’t have to wait here, sire.’ Merlin pushed himself off the ledge, while Arthur was frozen in place. ‘Thank you for – coming. You’ve done more than your duty.’

 _Sire_ again? And _duty?_

Merlin’s face had been wiped blank, and his voice was flat. ‘I’m sure I’ll be back to my own duties tomorrow morning. You needn’t worry about that.’ He hesitated by the door to his small room on seeing Arthur still by the window, and then said softly, ‘Goodnight.’

Arthur watched the door close and felt a shiver run through him, snagging at the patches of sweat he hadn’t felt forming. He sat in the cold moonlight for a while, wondering how his attempt at an apology had somehow made things worse, before blowing out the candle and sweeping out of Gaius’s chambers and into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think so far!!! i'm also [@southfarthing](https://southfarthing.tumblr.com/post/646290051585785856/) on tumblr <3


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